Doom 2099 Issue 45 The Storyteller
by DoomScribe
Summary: The Storyteller reveals to Doom and Duke Stratosphere a bit of gypsy lore, will it lead to a hidden treasure?  And who will be the winner in a battle to gain the information about the gypsies whereabouts?  Knights in armor clash, and Duke ducks!


**Doom 2099 UG, Issue #45**

_Gypsy, Sorcerer, Scientist, King . . ._ The man the 20th century vilified and called Doctor Doom has traveled to the year 2099 where the superheroes who once thwarted his plans at world conquest are no more. But his once pristine country of Latveria has been reduced to an inhospitable pool of toxic sludge by a madman wielding unearthly powers. He must renew his home and his power from abroad, in the new world of the future and in the realm of computer cyberspace, all the while asserting his right to rule as . . . DOOM 2099 !

"**The Storyteller"**

Duke Stratosphere eyed the cybernetic representation of Doom from across the dark castle floor with nervous anticipation. He was able to do little else. His own icon was currently detained by two, eight foot tall, inhuman warrior guards that had grabbed him moments earlier. All of the openings into the room were locked shut, the windows sealed by thick metal plates.

Or, what would be thick metal plates in the real world. Either way, the trap was effective. Although Duke was far more at home in this cyber universe than he had ever found himself to be in the so called real world, his easy familiarity did little to brighten his current predicament. Duke had surreptitiously entered a program that was the exact replica of Castle Doom in Latveria several hours ago from a terminal on board the PIXEL corp.'s floating blimp, the Cicada, moored at their summer headquarters in Northern Spain. The program provided a VR tour of Castle Doom, accurate in every detail down to the cobwebs in the black corners and the cold drafts whispering along stone tile. From the rather benign ten dollar tour, Duke had been able to hack into many of the castle's cybernetic resources, the vast and varied libraries, security tapes, and even some of Doom's own personal files. His interest was not sabotage or subterfuge, but merely the quest for the information necessary to open the black box. The black box which he had snatched from imminent disintegration in a fading file from the erased from the Myridian databanks right before his eyes. The box which had thus far repelled all of his attempts to crack it. The box which he was certain held some bit of data that would prove profitable to a man such as he, who specialized in finding the most obscure, the rarest, and as such the most valuable bits of data on the web. The black box, which was now in the possession of none other than Doom!

Doom held the box up in one armored hand, examining it under the dim light provided by the fiery torches on the wall behind him. The smooth black surface reflected his silver mask back at him, and his red eyepieces narrowed in intense concentration. He turned it over in his hands, twice, and rubbed his metal gloved fingers over the hard seamless surface of the box. Those gloves were exceptionally sensitive, relaying data through the nanotechnology which controlled his armor, and transferring that information directly into his own nervous system. But those sensors could only relay raw data, and there was so much more here. Doom felt the surfacing of a quiet emotion and long distant memory as he held the box aloft. He brought the box down and set it once again on the small table beside him. Doom did not look at the net glider his guards held captive. "You have no idea what this is, do you?" he asked calmly.

"Well, actually . . ." Duke started with a cough, "ahem! Is it a paperweight?"

"Your inane attempts at humor will not alleviate the dire predicament you now face," Doom growled coldly, his back to the net glider. "Try again."

Duke continued, "Hmm, well I, ah . . . I really didn't want to know, actually. I just thought I would make sure that I found the proper owners, and returned it to them. There's lots of lost data out there on the 'Net, and that's my specialty: I find lost data."

Doom turned to face him. "You are an abysmal liar," he intoned.

Duke smiled slightly. It really was a bit of a treat to find an opponent worthy of his talents. If not ridiculously dangerous. "Well," he continued, "I do admit to being the slightest bit . . . curious."

"Curiosity, as they say, killed the cat," Doom turned back to the box, placing both hands beside it on the table. He hunched over it, staring at it. "However, all knowledge is preceded by a question. And questions are drawn by the curious mind. It is good that you are curious, for personally I tire of the dull sluggards of this micro-managed culture, where all initiative is swallowed by the endless stream of artificial electronic inputs that pass for entertainment. There is no more passion, no more ambition here. The people have become cattle, all too willing to be driven to the slaughter. But you are not one to follow the herd, are you net glider?"

Duke did not know how to answer that, so he was silent.

Doom continued without pause. "If times had been different, you and I might have become allies. Alas, you failed to choose your friends well when you sent the assassin Fever after Wire and I. A fatal error."

"Even a scoundrel has to repay his debts," Duke explained without shame. "There was no malicious intent on my part. I was truly fond of that boy, Wire. I had expected him to go far. It was just an unfortunate accident, an error of timing. Fever wasn't my friend, I never much liked the son of a glitch, but I owed him one. I had no choice but to honor that debt. And, look, it all turned out ok in the end! So, no harm done . . . right? And now you even have your box back!"

"Now you are babbling, I would have expected better of you," Doom stood back up and placed his hands behind his back. Shadows hid his masked face, only the glowing red eyepieces blazed sharply within his dark cowl. "I have concluded that you purloined this program from the Myridian databanks during the recent security breach. It is indeed familiar to me, but the truth is, this was never mine to begin with."

Duke was stumped. Was Doom lying now?

"I, uh, well, what I meant was," Duke stuttered, then finished firmly, "what I meant was that the box is an important relic from the history of your people, and you wouldn't have wanted to lose it."

"Is that what you think? Is that why you went to all this trouble? Hmm," Doom smiled beneath his mask. "You are more of a fool than I had at first ascertained." Doom marched back and snatched the box from the table. He walked up to Duke. "This is a toy," he said, raising the box up to Duke's face. "You risked your life and who knows what else, for a simple gypsy toy."

Duke tried to hide his disappointment. He had been certain that the box represented something valuable. "I don't believe it, "he whispered softly to himself, "after all I put myself through!" But something wasn't quite right, there had to be more than that. "Someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure that that box you call a toy couldn't be opened," he said to Doom, with barely concealed cynicism. "So you know what's inside it then?"

"No, I have no idea what it holds," Doom smiled behind his silver mask. "Apparently, neither do you. That is probably a good thing, for your sake."

"Good? I don't understand."

Doom explained. "The box is a puzzle box, similar to ones carved in wood by my grandfather. I remember my grandfather as an extraordinary puppet maker, and a bit of a scoundrel. No doubt his genius was ahead of his time. The gypsies are notorious pranksters, the box could easily hide a family's entire wealth, or just as likely a bomb primed to explode as soon as someone attempts to open it. It is in this way that my people safe guarded their valuables from the over zealous constables who would seize their property at every border checkpoint. This one," Doom again grasped the box firmly in one hand, "this one I have never seen before. It is unusual for the gypsies to commit their secrets to an electronic media, but I suspect that the answer to that will be found within."

Doom placed both hands on the box in a particular and precise manner, his fingers arranged in seemingly random order on the sides of the black surface. He pressed three fingers and a thumb of each hand in a once forgotten pattern, touching all but two sides of the obsidian cube.

"Uh . . . how do you know that it's not a booby trap of some sort?" Duke asked as he nervously watched Doom manipulate the box.

"I don't," Doom replied wryly. "But if it is, you should be pleased to know that the armor my icon wears will probably protect me from any such malfeasance." Doom pressed his fingers into the box.

"Wait! I'm not protected!" Duke shouted, too late, as the box hummed slightly and two rectangular prongs slowly popped out of opposite sides of the box. Energy buzzed around the box in slight flashes of blue and gold. Doom seemed unimpressed, and held the box easily despite the crackling bolts that danced about him. He grasped the two prongs and moved them forward across a narrow channel that mysteriously opened up in the once featureless cube. The prongs came together, the crackling energy increased, engulfing Doom's entire body now in its cool blue fire. The prongs extended out of the box and began to reconfigure of their own power now, folding outward like a segmented snake. Duke realized with sudden clarity that the prongs were forming a kind of antenna. Finally, Doom set the box down on the table, and stepped back. The dark room was lit by the wash of blue white energy emanating from the box. The energy brightened, swirling in a cyclone around the box, until it began to take shape in the space between them. Then a crescendo of energy gathered in a final hyperactive climax of brilliance, and just as quickly dissipated like a gossamer breeze, leaving in its wake a small and unremarkable man.

The man summoned by the box stood quietly in front of the two titans of cyberspace. He wore tattered, ancient clothes, a dirty vest and pants that appeared two sizes too big, tied at the waist with a ragged bit of rope. His brown hair was curly and unkempt beneath a wide felt hat, adorned with a single blue feather tucked into its band. He wore a necklace of beads and animal teeth that hung below his open collar. The man removed his hat in a slow and deliberate motion, and Duke heard the slightest breath of a sigh escape the man's lips. To say that Duke was disappointed would be an understatement. The man stood silently there in front of them, but appeared not to acknowledge their presence, until Doom commanded him.

"Speak, gypsy," was his simple but firm order.

The tattered man complied instantly. "I am the Storyteller," he said slowly. He looked down, and twirled his hat dejectedly in his grimy hands. "I apologize to my ancestors for using the technology of this age. I am forever unclean." His voice and manner were distraught, pierced with a deep pain. Even Duke, who had seen many holographic recordings, was impressed with the depth of emotion and realistic detail captured by this program.

"It is forgiven, Storyteller," Doom replied gently. "Why are you here?"

"The tribes are scattered, our leaders are lost, or dead. There is a great hunger in the world, famine, fear, and wars. Soon, there may be none of the people left to tell the tales of our ancestors. My sons, Tikno, Adam, and Vladimer, they are all dead. God have mercy on their souls. There is no one left to speak the history, I am alone now. Only Piotr and his unholy machine. I commit my soul to this machine, in the hopes that the history will be spoken yet again."

"Speak, Storyteller," Doom commanded, "tell us the history that brings you here."

The Storyteller raised his eyes at last, and his face took on a bit of the glory and honor of his once exalted position in the tribe. His voice was suddenly light and infused with a magical quality. He began as all story tellers before him had. "This is a story of long ago, when life was hard and the People were pure. The story is our history, our legacy, and our curse. But even when the darkest clouds obscure the horizon, we are not afraid. It is the gypsy way that we shall never be afraid."

"The story of my ancestors is the story of the Silver Warrior of Moroa. This is the story my father has spoken, and his father before him, and this is how our history is kept alive, one generation to the next. The Silver Warrior is a beautiful gypsy woman, of long black silken hair and eyes as pure as moonlight. Her skin is white as the winter snow, her lips ruby red and her laughter was the sound of angels in the forest. She was our best and our brightest, linking the tribes from the entire world, uniting the old ways with the new world. All the tribes looked to her to lead us out of the darkness and into the bright future. She is Zefiro, and of Noble Blood, but even as she brought the gypsies into the light of the world, she was condemned by the old king. He discovered her power, and he feared and coveted it as a man driven by a jealous and unholy lust. But she rejected him, and she fled our lands, for his power and ambition were like a cancer over the world."

"For many years the Silver Warrior was pursued by the evil king who sought to contain her lightness for his own. The gypsies who had followed her heard tales of her struggles from the many camps where she was sheltered. She fled his evil over many dark seas and across forested continents, but still he pursued her as if possessed. In a distant high country, she transformed herself into an eagle, flying into the mountainous regions, and he flew into the clouds to catch her. But time and again she escaped. She became the swiftest of deer, covering miles of forested country in great bounds, and he set his hounds upon her. She hid in the thickets with the rabbits and the mice, as quiet and motionless as a pea in its pod, and he swallowed the very earth beneath her. Still she eluded capture. Only when her small and sickly brother was threatened by the warlord's advancing troops, did she return home, at last to face him once and for all."

"The Silver Warrior was finally forced into battle to defend her blood from the malignant evil king of the land, who would enslave and imprison the gypsy tribes as none had before. There was a great unrest among the tribes, as the leaders took counsel, and a violent course of action seemed imminent. The Silver Warrior came before the counsel at the city of Moroa. She was wearing magnificent battle armor, so bright and pure that it blinded the council to look upon her! She held before her the great sword of her father, the jeweled Defender, and she offered her aide to the clan in battle against the king. The common people who witnessed this knelt in spontaneous adoration, struck by her glorious vision. She was as a silver angel holding a golden cross, descended from the heavens! The council agreed to have her lead the warriors in battle. All the people gathered behind her and the gypsy tribes of Zefiro, Boyash, Manush and Kalderash answered her call. All differences from the past are forgotten, and the soldiers rallied as one Nation behind the silver goddess. She is the great light of our people, and the seers foretell that she will bring us freedom from our oppressors and lead us unto a new age. It is widely believed that the evil lord who pursues her seeks to entrap her soul in his dark castle, so that her light and purity would hold the people in his thrall for all their days. And, he is enraptured by her beauty as are all men, and wishes to own her only for himself, but none may have her."

"As the hour grows late, as the two armies face each other in the ancient city of Moroa by the river Dukeri, the tribes are buoyed by the presence of the Silver Warrior, like a boat floats upon the waves. Our soldiers are glorious in their battle armor, they make fierce sounds and taunt the opposing forces with jeers and slander. An effigy of the evil King is burned upon the hillside in defiance. The Silver Warrior stood at the fore of the army of her gypsy kin, firm in her beliefs, brave and unwavering in her conviction. Her small, blind and weak brother would join her in battle, but she forbids it, and the old women of the tribe make sure he is safe. Finally, as darkness approaches, the two armies clash. There was a crush of metal against metal, sword against shield, and thus with the roar of the gods begins a battle that will last many days and nights. The soldiers of the unholy army of the evil lord were inhuman creatures, fueled by magical powers, and they have no souls to know fear or anger or longing. They were bound to the soul of the evil King, who surveyed the battle field astride his war horse, waiting for the gypsies to fall. The gypsies were driven onward by their faith in each other and their belief in the Silver Warrior. They charged into the enemy as one, sword upraised hearts brave and pure. We fought as brothers, all of one heart and one mind. When one brother was killed, his brother fights all the more fiercely, slashing through the enemy like a lion unleashed. The Silver Warrior fights beside them all, repelling attack after attack, healing the wounds of her kin, and bringing her light into their spirit so that they may not despair. But many were killed, and the fields of battle grew dark with their blood."

"Finally, the evil tyrant and the Silver Warrior faced each other on the field of battle. His power was great, but she also has great power. Her magic was strong, for she is a witch, and she is a woman, and the forces of Nature favor women. But the evil lord has magic too: he has made an unholy alliance with the devil himself. There was a piercing light like the sun coming onto the earth, and a terrible sound. So bright and terrifying was it that those left alive on the battlefield were forced to look away. The ground at their feet trembled as if violated. But alas, when those gathered dared to look again, it was to see the final triumph of the evil King! In the midst of the battlefield he strikes her down, his black sword piercing her heart. The Silver Warrior falls to the blood soaked earth, and even though she is surely dying from her wounds, she is not yet defeated. A radiant magic surrounded her, drawn down from the skies above to protect her, and try as he might the evil lord cannot touch her! Her blood flows like a river, and bathes the soils red for miles around. The evil warlord was driven back by the purity of her sacrifice, for the blood of the Silver Warrior burns him like fire! But as he retreated, he struck again, and sealed the light of her soul in an impenetrable, cocoon of stone, so that no one else may steal her magic!"

"The army of the evil King was driven back under the red tide, and the remaining gypsies watched with great concern, for they have been cursed by the evil warlord, and their champion is now dead upon the battlefield. But the blood of the Silver Warrior has not yet run dry. Her brother was brought to the field where she had fallen, to give his blessing upon his dead sister. But when her blood touched his small hand, there was a wondrous miracle! Her brother, blind and weak from birth, was suddenly healed, and before the very eyes of the all the gypsy there he became magically strong and robust. He stood then without aid of neither crutches nor hand upon his elbow, and his sight was returned to him for the first time! And when the lad at last opened his eyes and sees, his power was fully realized. His magic was as hers, and the fire of his eyes drives the evil tyrant away from the body of his sister. The holy fire from the brother pierces the inner soul of the evil king and forces him to fall to his knees, crying, like a babe, for the evil he has done. And all upon the field of battle fall to their knees in wonder. The pure light from the brother drives the evil warlord away, to be banished from the world, never to be seen again. The gypsies are freed at last, and a grand celebration is heard throughout the land. Only the brother grieves, and so he takes the body of the Silver Warrior, encased in the stone cocoon, to a remote tomb. She is hidden away so that her power may never be used for evil. As a tribute, her body is sealed forever in this unmarked vault, with all of the great riches and the secrets of her time, laid to rest beside her by the faithful in everlasting homage to her glory."

The Storyteller grew silent, and bowed his head once more.

"That's it?" Duke asked incredulously. "I mean, it's a nice story and I'm sure the movie rights would be worth a cred or two, but it hardly seems worth it for someone to have gone to all this trouble . . ."

Doom ignored him. "This tale is a familiar one, but it has changed in some of the details from when I first heard it as a youth. Curious. I do not recall the part about the hidden tomb."

Doom turned away from Duke and the Storyteller as he was struck by another memory. A memory that Vox, the boy healer of the gypsy Zefiro, had brought to him once in a magical trance. He was standing in a crumbling city of stone and burning timber, when a female soldier, in silver armor, staggered out of a broken doorway. "Doom! This is your fault! You've destroyed everything!" the warrior spits her last breath at him. Her wounds are mortal, and she dies at his feet. He remembered that he was moved to sympathy by this vision, but he doesn't know why. Could these histories be somehow related? Lately he'd begun to believe that the vision was that of Margaretta Von Geisterstadt, his nemesis the Neon Angel. Now, having heard the Storyteller's tale, he wasn't so sure. The images of the two women seemed to mesh in his memory, similar in so many ways, but different. The gaps in his recollection were causing an unsettling sense of annoyance, but the mystery would have to unfold in its own time. He turned back to the Storyteller with focused inquisitiveness. "Storyteller," he asked, "where is the tomb of the Silver Warrior?"

"Oh, that's it! The tomb!" Duke commented with peaked interest. "Untold riches of their age, hidden treasures, this is good."

The Storyteller dug deep into one of his pockets, and when he opened his hand he held out three small chips. They were black rectangles, like dominoes, each with white markings on one side. He pulled away his hand, but the chips remained floating in the air, twirling slowly between them. "The exact location of the Tomb of the Silver Warrior is encoded on four black ivory tokens. The tokens have been passed on from generation to generation, each one entrusted to one member of the gypsy tribes. I am the last to have all three," he said, with a telling sigh. "The fourth chip has always remained hidden, so that only he who was worthy may hold the true secrets of the tomb."

"Dominoes?" Duke asked.

"Gambling chips," Doom explained. He reached up and grabbed the chips out of the air, examining the markings on each one. The crude scratches were ancient letters that Doom recognized as early written forms of Romany, the language of the gypsies. "Used by the gypsies, for gambling and notes of debt, and for communication. This code is the only form of writing ever officially used by the tribes. It has never been broken."

"I assume you know what it means?" Duke asked, hopefully.

"Of course I do, imbecile," Doom growled, "but it is the pinnacle of arrogance to think that finding the tomb would be as simple as that. The fourth chip holds the crucial coordinates, without it, the tomb could be lost forever."

"Well, where is the fourth chip?" Duke asked.

"The fourth chip has always remained hidden, so that only he who was worthy may hold the true secrets of the tomb," the Storyteller answered.

"You said that already!" Duke commented, adding sarcastically, "I think there's a glitch in your mainframe old man!"

"I am confident that the location of the fourth chip will be revealed in time," Doom said firmly. "But there is still more to this tale, isn't there Storyteller? It is never as simple as finding the tomb. That alone would not safeguard the body of the gypsies' savior."

"What do you mean?" Duke asked.

"Listen to what is being said, net glider, then listen to what has not been said," Doom instructed. "If this history is factually based, then there is one more element that is missing."

"Which is . . .?" Duke prodded.

"The key, Storyteller," Doom demanded, "where is the key to the tomb of the Silver Warrior?"

"It is said," the Storyteller answered obligingly, "that the key contains a crystal which cannot be changed, and which cannot be broken. The crystal is magical in its origin and its design, and it will always find its way into the possession of the mystics of our tribes. The key may be lost for generations, only to reappear when a mystic of true talent is born again unto the tribes. I am just a storyteller, and I have never seen the key, but I have been told that it is a simple silver ring, with a white crystal. The crystal has a blue star in the center, a brilliant blue that glows from within as if alive with the energy of the heavens. The star appears to float in the center of the crystal like a fish in the center of the sea. It pulsates with the heart of the wearer, brighter and more intense than any man made light. The crystal is the key. Without the key, any who attempt to enter the Tomb will find that it becomes their own tomb. The brother of the Silver Warrior infused the Tomb with his magic, so that no one may disturb her final resting place."

"I've seen that ring," Duke answered with startled clarity.

"So have I, curiously enough," Doom answered slowly. "It was in the possession of Vox, the boy mystic healer whom I first encountered after clashing with Tiger Wylde." (_See the now classic Doom 2099 #1_ !) Doom turned away from the Storyteller to eye Duke with barely restrained malice. "But since Latveria was necrotoxified by Herod, Vox is dead, and if the ring does possess the magical qualities the Storyteller professes, it may very well be lost until another mystic of true power is born unto the tribe."

"Well then," Duke answered slyly, "it seems that I know something you do not. Perhaps the information on the location of the crystal key is worth trading to you? Say, my life for the location of the key?"

"I don't make deals, Stratosphere," Doom intoned fiercely. "Your life is forfeit, and any information you can find, have no doubt that I will uncover as well! However, your future will be exceptionally less distressing if you willingly provide me with the information I require!"

"No way Lord high and mighty," Duke shook his head. "This is the Duke here, and the Duke deals in information. There are no free samples! You have to pay the piper, same as anyone else."

"Insolent whelp!" Doom growled with subdued anger. "You forget that you have lost your freedom to barter when you crossed the threshold into MY domain!" Doom turned to a panel on the wall beside him and opened it up. "I have been developing a particular program capable of delivering exquisite levels of pain even to a cybernetic icon. I have yet had the chance to field test it. You will be the first to have such an honor." Doom opened the panel and removed a particularly nasty looking implement roughly the size and shape of a maniacal screwdriver. "You will tell me what you know about the key, and then I will decide on the remainder of your fate!"

"Ahh . . . that sounds like my cue to exit," Duke said, eyeing Doom and his approaching device with genuine concern. Duke struggled, just a little, in the grip of his captors, and as he expected, they tightened their grips. This was as he wished it to be, for in an instant, he was no longer there, and the guards were left holding nothing. He had vanished! Well, not exactly vanished, but he had shrunk! The guards were baffled, wordlessly looking around the room for their quarry.

"You brainless buffoons!" Doom growled angrily. "He's there at your feet! Grab him!"

Duke had indeed shrunk his icon to the size of a mouse, using a pressure sensitive device hidden within one sleeve. Being small and quick, he easily evaded the clumsy attempts to grab him by the giant guards and their oversized mitts. Looking up from his rather diminutive stature, Duke could see a giant sized Doom closing in. At this size there were far more places to hide and to run to, but there was still a risk of getting stomped on! Doom's metal heel came careening in from above as he closed in on the rodent sized Duke. Running as fast as he could from that crushing blow, Duke continued to shrink his icon until he could fit between the cracks in the tile floor. He jumped down into what was now a massive crevasse just as the sole of Doom's boot smashed into the floor above him. Duke was thrown to his knees as the ground shook and debris rained down from above, but he was otherwise unhurt.

"Chaos! Get over here!" Duke ordered to the air. His cybernetic steed, as much a part of his own icon as his clothes, suddenly appeared in the crack in the tiles, head bucking and silver mane tossing. Swiftly Duke mounted, grateful for the extra speed his trusty companion would provide. He was going to need it, because he suddenly smelled the acrid odor of jet fuel. He looked up to see what appeared to be giant pores opening up on the bottom surface of Doom's boot.

"Oh, shock!" he cried. "Hyah!" this to his mount, as he crouched low over the horse's neck and dug his heels into its sides. Instantly the horse leaped forward, racing down the open trench between the floor tiles at a breakneck speed. Behind him, Duke could see a wavering mist as the flammable vapors filled the open crack. Then there was a muffled "whoosh", and he felt the heat of flames on his back as the fuel was ignited. The hot air rushed past him, and Duke could have sworn he smelled a stench like burning horse hair, but they managed to outrace the engulfing flames.

"Man, he doesn't jack around!" Duke muttered. "Let's find the exit outta here Chaos!"

At this size, there were few barriers to his icon. Doom was a dangerous cyber foe, but he was familiar with imagining the playing field bound by the dimensions of meat space. As they approached the outer wall, Duke guided his steed towards a crack under the door. Being small was disorienting, and he risked fragmentation of his icon from the energy expenditure, but it was a trick that rarely failed him. The opening appeared suddenly before him as he approached the doorway. A small crack between the door and the floor was enormous to the now tiny Duke and his cyber steed. In an instant he was out, and wheeled his golden mount in the hallway to get his bearings.

"I suspect that it would be rude to impose any further upon Doom's hospitality, Chaos," Duke said with quiet sarcasm. "Let's find the nearest exit out of this rat trap castle!" Duke stopped as he heard a muffled scuffling from the opposite end of the hallway. The putrid stench of the sewer invaded his senses. Chaos whinnied nervously and bucked his head. In the darkness at the end of the hallway, the scuffling grew closer, and Duke felt an instant sense of unease. His fear intensified as a half dozen pairs of tiny red eyes appeared luminescently in the distance.

Duke pulled hard on the reins, and Chaos bucked, clawing at the air in fear. "Not that way you stupid animal!" Duke cried, pulling the horse's head tightly around and away from the red eyed monstrosities in the dark. Chaos bolted, hooves clattering over the smooth stone tiles. Duke looked back only briefly to see the pack of cyber rats that swarmed into the hallway behind him. In his current configuration, they appeared to be the size of hover-MACK trucks, and equally as dangerous. Their teeth chattered as they caught his scent, and they began to race after him down the hallway.

"Rats! Rats. I spoke to soon, it seems." He punched a command code into the controller he wore at his wrist, and Chaos effortlessly turned on the speed, pulling away from the rats that were now in hot pursuit. That gave him time to get his bearings and search for the nearest exit. He could easily have returned to normal size, but he still had Doom to elude, and, he had an idea for a back door.

Too late he noticed a second obstruction in his path. At his small size, very large objects in the landscape were clouded by a reduced resolution, and he was so busy eluding rats and plotting his escape, that he missed the buzzing warning of his proximity sensor. Only when he looked up at the last moment, did he realize his mistake. Two more guards blocked the corridor through which he raced. Normally that would not present that much of a problem, until he noticed what they held in their hands. Each of the ungainly guards held the nozzle from a fire hose, and even as Duke pulled hard on Chaos' reins to turn his mount around, they began to open the valves.

"Shock me!" Duke muttered defensively. "I hate getting wet . . .!"

A massive wall of water shot down the corridor, bouncing against the walls with furious speed, gathering momentum as it consumed all in its path. There was nothing that could escape it, nothing that could withstand it, and Duke was instantly caught up in the surging flood. He could almost hear the distant laugh of what might only be Doom above the thundering roar of water. His icon could not drown, but the water would not let him escape, swirling over him and carrying him bodily along its course. Duke relaxed as best he could, letting the water take him, like a raft floating down a wild river. He instinctively ducked his head as the rushing water was sucked into a drain along one wall, and Duke was suddenly falling through a cold dark tunnel. Duke fell for what seemed like an eternity until his icon pulled away from the rush of water long enough to grab hold of a slippery cable that ran the length of the drain. Pulling himself out of the stream of water allowed him to control his icon's downward momentum, and he slid to an uneasy stop, dangling in the midst of an endless turbulent waterfall. He hung there for a moment, trying to adjust his eyes to the suffocating darkness. He looked up, just in time to see one of the rats that had pursued him falling toward him from above. He swung instinctively on the cable, and the red eyed rodent hurtled past him, barely missing him and disappearing into the darkest depths below. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness as he noticed a faint light source directly above him. Two more rats fell down the pipe, swept by the falling flood. The source of the light appeared to be a promising escape route, and he began to climb. A fourth falling rat almost clipped him as he began, and a moment later Duke felt a jerk and a tug on the cable that almost knocked him from his precarious perch. He looked down to see that the rat had also caught hold of the cable, and was maneuvering to pursue Duke up the wire. "

Man," Duke whined hopelessly, "doesn't that guy ever give up?" He scrambled up the cable to the opening in the pipe, but the rat below was a far more nimble climber. Duke was reaching for the junction when he felt the tickle of giant rat whiskers at his feet.

"Holy Odin! Get away from me you mother . . .!" Duke kicked at the twitching nose, landing a solid blow with his thick boot onto the tender wet snout. The rat shook its head in pain, slipping a little farther back down the cable as it did so. Wasting no further time, Duke climbed into the junction pipe. Standing at last on the edge, he kept one hand on the cable and looked down. The rat was coming back up.

"I've heard that it's hard to keep a good rat down, unless deep fried and served with copious amounts of ketchup," he said mockingly. He pulled a small plasma pocket knife out of his coat pocket. "But in this case, I think a quick cut will ease the tension between you and I. Hasta la bye bye, rat fink," Duke cried heroically as he swiftly cut the cable. The soaked rat, still holding onto the broken cable, fell down the vertical pipe, tumbling down into the depths until Duke lost sight of it. Rivulets of water dripped down Duke's nose and cheeks, his blond hair was plastered neatly against his scalp, and the slightest of wry smiles crossed his lips as he savored this small victory. He turned away and began to clamber along the slippery pipe toward the distant light.

Duke found himself in a utility closet as he hoisted himself up through a large floor drain. He stood there for a moment, small and dripping upon the floor. Sweeping the room cautiously, he waited until he was certain that he was alone before unzipping his icon and returning to full size. He pulled his hat out of his coat pocket, and held it aloft with disdain, watching the water drip from the soaked brim.

"Dry," he ordered shortly, and his icon was instantly free of the water, which had been moved into a bucket at his feet. Duke replaced his hat jauntily upon his head, and turned up the collar of his coat. He opened the door to the closet cautiously, looking around the room where he had been deposited.

"Duke, you lucky son of a glitch," he said to himself, "if you ever get out of here alive . .. what's this?"

The room beyond was empty, but he had been dropped smack dab in the middle of Castle Doom security central. The program was playing a self- policing function, surveying and recording all corners of the virtual reality castle, much as would be done in the real castle, recording and storing reams of data ten times per second. Several monitors along one wall showed concurrent scenes from all corners of the VR castle, and included some which were still sweeping the real Castle Doom in Latveria.

"Oh my. I'm in heaven," Duke muttered slowly. "I've died and gone to heaven. I gotta travel in the sewers more often!" He looked around the room in awe, mentally cataloging all the features stored there. One of the monitors showed Doom, tapping into the Castle's databanks in an attempt to locate the missing crystal. Duke could spend a lifetime gathering and copying the information from the security room, but his time was limited. Sooner or later, Doom would find him.

"Chaos, get in here." Duke ordered absently as he peered at one of the monitors. Chaos was instantly behind him, and was still soaking wet. "No! Don't . . . !" Duke cried as he saw his equine companion lower its head. Too late, as the horse did a full body shake, spreading water all over everything, including Duke. Soaked once more, Duke stood patiently as Chaos nuzzled his coat affectionately. Duke patted the horse's nose and spoke with mock anger, "Were you raised in a barn or what? Let's get dry now, we've got work to do." With that Duke removed a tool from Chaos' saddlebags and turned back to the security board with haste, keeping one eye on the monitor that was watching Doom as he worked. "Let's just see if we can broker an insurance policy out of this mess."

Doom had activated a recording within the VR castle that had been taken from his real castle in Latveria, days before Herod had dumped deadly necrotoxin over the entire country. He had found Fortune's administrative diary, and was playing it back. Like ghosts from a previous life, he was suddenly standing in a small dark room, with a plain round wooden table, softly illuminated by a single lamp. From the open window, the last bits of daylight streamed past soft curtains. Fortune was standing by the window, looking out at the approaching dusk. Her short red hair shimmered in the light of the waning day. For a moment Doom wondered what she was thinking, her eyes were so distant and pensive. But she was merely a recording, and any such musings were a futile waste of energy, for he knew that she was dead. Just then, Andrei Ranganoff, the gypsy mechanic who was Fortune's favorite liaison within the Zefiro tribe, entered the room. He was a big man, with long dark hair below a balding crown and intense brown eyes. His arms were thick masses of steely muscle. His long eyebrows were thick and brooding over steel grey eyes. He was a formidable figure, but he treated Fortune with great respect and tenderness.

"It is too much that you're doing, Fortune," Andrei spoke as he entered the room. "You must rest, or you will drive yourself into an early grave."

"Doom trusted me to run the country in his absence, Andrei," Fortune sighed, turning away from the window as she spoke. "I intend to prove to him that I can do it, that I can be trusted despite my earlier failing [_Fortune bartered for the restoration of her long lost brother with the Neon Angel, as was revealed in Doom 2099 #28_.] And I intend to use every power at my disposal to protect our people in his absence."

"If you are dead on your feet, there will be little you can do," Andrei argued. "Doom may be an inhuman tin can, but you are not. You need rest, Fortune."

Fortune smiled. "I appreciate your concern, Andrei," she said, placing her hand affectionately around his muscular arm. She laid her head on that arm, and he gave her a gentle hug. "I'll be all right, really," she sighed softly. Then she pulled away to address him once again in her formal administrative voice. "So what brings you all the way up here, my friend? I thought you refused to set foot in the Castle as long as Doom was in power!"

"Necessity, Fortune," Andrei answered with a serious frown. "You haven't answered your pages in five days, and I don't trust Doom's lackeys to get a message to you."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I've been so busy lately I . . ." Fortune stopped herself. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing serious, it's just Vox . . ." Andrei started, shaking his head. "The boy has got it in his head to go, and no one can talk him out of it. It's too dangerous. I thought maybe you could help."

"Go? Go where?" Fortune asked.

Andrei was about to tell her, when the recording suddenly fitzzed . . . the images blinked out leaving Doom standing alone again in the control room. "What the . . .?" he said, puzzled, punching fruitlessly at the controls. It soon became apparent that someone had tampered with the recording, deleting it from the main frame. All records of any further mention of Vox had been erased.

"Stratosphere . . . ," Doom muttered knowingly. He turned to another control, "Guards! Tell me you've located the Net Glider!" he ordered angrily. Two guards were at a sewer outfall at the castle courtyard, sifting rats and other debris from a stream of water exiting from a pipe. "There's no sign of him," the guard reported dejectedly, "he's disappeared or maybe derezzed . . ."

"Imbecile! He's somewhere in the pipe junctions!" Doom pressed a button at his controller, and the guard screamed once as the program deleted him. Doom addressed the remaining guard. "Find him!" he ordered angrily.

"Too late," came another voice from just outside the monitor's view. The remaining guard appeared to freeze involuntarily, and then its icon slowly derezzed from top to bottom right before Doom's eyes. Duke's face appeared in Doom's monitor, his hand raised just behind where the guard had been standing. "Poorly designed guards, Doomsie," Duke cracked. "I think it might be time for an upgrade."

"Surrender yourself, Duke," Doom growled, ignoring his taunts, "there is no escape from the castle unless I will it."

"And this information is lost forever, unless you barter, Doom," Duke waved a data coin in front of his face. "If I die, it dies with me."

"You will die," Doom threatened ominously, "and all that you have will soon be mine!"

"Check your data stream, Doom," Duke instructed firmly, "this net glider is nothing if not thorough. All trace of any mention of Vox and his whereabouts has been irretrievably shredded. This disk is all that remains. Destroy my icon and it will be lost forever! The world is a big place for a little lost boy, Doom. You want him, you gotta deal. You know where I am."

Doom fumed silently as the screen went blank. He had no need to verify Duke's words; he already knew they were true. But, he still had a few tricks hidden in his silver gauntlets.

Duke was waiting for Doom in the open courtyard at the center of the castle. He sat easily upon his horse, but Chaos pawed nervously at the ground, tossing his silver-maned head. Duke was more than ready to exit this program, but Doom had spoken true when he had said that the net glider could not leave unless Doom willed it. All of the usual paths offline were blocked to Duke, and although there were a number of extreme maneuvers Duke could attempt, he'd decided not to risk them until all other options had been exhausted. He had to trust that Doom would deal now.

Doom appeared at the other end of the castle courtyard, mounted on a magnificent black stallion that pranced majestically into the open plaza. He sat easily in the saddle, his eyes locked on Duke as he guided the spirited horse over rough cobblestones towards the center of the courtyard. Riding closely behind him were three armored knights, wearing a medieval armor that was well suited to the ancient stone castle surrounding them. The knight's faces were obscured by heavy helmets, and their saddles were bristling with lethal armaments. The three knights halted at a point just opposite of Duke, while Doom continued forward. He stopped a short distance from the net glider, and stared at Duke deliberately. His stallion stood obediently, but its feet and tail moved nervously at the smell of his enemy. Chaos too, was agitated by the presence of the other stallion, and bucked and fidgeted restlessly. Duke tried to maintain his presence, but Doom was much more at ease in the art of unnerving his opponents in this manner. After a studied silence, Doom finally spoke. "Hand over the disk," he stated coldly, "and I will reconsider your fate."

"Not good enough Doom," Duke answered stubbornly. "You get the disk, and I get amnesty from further retribution over what happened between you and Fever. And you let me ride out of here, without worrying about getting shot in the back!"

Doom answered calmly, "Very well, since you seem so prepared to die over that which is worthless to you, so be it." Doom nudged the side of his horse with one knee, and the horse moved obediently sideways.

"Worthless to me, perhaps," Duke debated quickly, "but information is power, Doom. You above all should know that."

"You have tread upon my good will for the last time, net glider. Pity," Doom threatened easily. "He who trespasses upon my hearth must be prepared to face the consequences. There are no exceptions," he turned his back towards Duke and rode close to his knights. "Kill him," he ordered in a stern whisper, "but make sure that you recover that disk!"

As one, the first two knights spurred their horses forward, each leaping from where they were standing in a mighty lunge. As they charged across the courtyard, each knight lowered a long steel lance down in front of him.

Duke was not unprepared, and he had preprogrammed some weapons of his own. Suddenly holding a long lance expertly under his arm, he charged fearlessly towards the rapidly closing knights. "A little like playing 'chicken' in the mag-lev cars of my youth," he thought to himself, "although I don't ever remember two against one being quite fair." Chaos moved easily beneath him, legs churning against the stone, responding instantly to the unspoken commands of his rider. The three horses charged relentlessly forward, galloping across the courtyard like freight trains towards a potentially fiery collision. At the last moment, Duke moved Chaos to the outside of the two knights, in a sudden side step that would have been physically impossible for a normal horse to perform at that speed. But Chaos was no normal mount, and as such he traveled on a different vector than the more realistic horses that the two knights used. Duke's unexpected ploy caught the knight unprepared, and unable to adjust in time. The closest knight took Duke's lance full in the chest. The long spear pierced armor and flesh, breaking off in Duke's hand as the two horses swept past each other. The armored knight clattered to the ground, dead as he landed and skittered to a halt near Doom. The black stallion stepped nervously away as the body of the knight shattered into a spectacular de-resolution.

Duke barely had time to savor his victory, before the second knight was again beside him, swinging a studded mace recklessly towards his head. Duke was forced to back away, and in so doing noticed the third knight, sitting motionless upon his horse a short distance from Doom. The third knight was considerably larger, with darker armor and a clutch of what looked like scalps hanging from pins at his shoulder. His armor was adorned with thick spikes and shiny studs. He looked considerably meaner than any of the castle henchmen Duke had yet to encounter. Even his horse looked mean, snorting and pawing at the ground in a frighteningly nervous pattern. It appeared that Doom was holding this knight in reserve. Duke ducked again as the steel ball came dangerously close to sweeping him off his horse. "He might not have to use him," Duke thought, "if I don't start paying attention!"

Duke turned to his programming skills once more, and as the knight came around for another swing, Duke held his ground, holding up a heavy round shield. The steel mace came down hard upon the shield, the clang of it echoing like a bell across the courtyard. The shield held for two more blows, until, unbalanced, Duke fell from his saddle with a thump onto the ground.

"Blast the luck!" Duke exclaimed, as he picked himself up, still holding onto the shield. "Ah, this is a trick I bet you don't know!" Duke held the shield by the edge, and flung it like an old twentieth century flying disk toy at his opponent. The knight moved quickly out of the way, and the flying shield missed him completely. It clattered to the ground ten meters behind him. "That's not the way it's supposed to work!" Duke muttered dejectedly, having fully expected the shield to return to him. The knight, seeing his quarry now unarmed, and seemingly at his mercy, circled in a long lazy arc before turning to charge!

Duke looked around him for a weapon or a defensive aid, all to no avail. "What a huge crater this job has turned into," he said morosely. "C'mon, Duke, pull a rabbit out of your . . . ah!" Duke dug deep into a pocket of his long coat, and pulled out his ace. The charging knight could barely see the small gun that Duke pointed at him, but the tiny weapon packed considerable punch. The knight continued his charge, and Duke took careful aim. With one shot, a bullet from the tiny gun pierced the armor of the charging knight. The knight went flying from his horse, to collapse in a useless pile of bent metal and cyber flesh upon the cold stones of the courtyard.

Duke turned around to face Doom and the last, grim knight. Doom was giving the Knight some final instructions, but Duke could not hear what they were. Then the Knight was riding towards him, his beastly horse prancing across the plaza to where Duke stood. "Look, Doom, this really isn't accomplishing anything," Duke stated bravely, trying to hide his fear at the approach of this dark, soulless construct. "You could throw your henchmen at me all night," he continued, backing away a little so as to get a better look at the steadily approaching knight. "But these games are all the same, only the names of the zombies/ warrior knights /militia men change from one to the next. Eventually I'll find or make the weapon I need to defeat them, and then what? Game over. Nothing accomplished but another high score and neither of us with anything to show for it."

Doom was silent, watching still from a distance.

"Oh well," Duke thought, and aimed his tiny gun once more at the Knight. The weapon discharged with a small puff of smoke, but miraculously the Knight continued forward. Duke looked up in surprise, and aimed again. The armor piercing projectile bounced futilely off of the grim Knight's chest plate. Then suddenly the Knight was on top of Duke, and his gun was slapped away with one sweep of a thick armored glove. The Knight picked Duke up by the collar in that same hand, and lifted him easily off of the ground. Duke could smell the Knight's breath, like the putrid odor of rotting flesh, sickening him as it pierced his senses. Then the knight tossed Duke away like a rag doll, to roll and tumble painfully onto the hard ground.

Doom answered his question in a deep monotone.

"This is no game," he announced coldly.

Duke picked himself slowly up off of the stone pavement, holding his aching head, pain in his knees where he had landed making him limp. "Damn!" he thought with angry astonishment, "that HURT!" He looked back at the Knight, who had dismounted and was now approaching the net glider on foot, sword and shield in hand. Doom's words echoed in his battered brain, and he was beginning to believe him. Time to change tactics. Duke turned to Doom again, holding aloft the disk.

"All right Doom, let's just say you're right, and this game you're playing can cause me harm in the real world," Duke entreated slyly. "How many hours and days are you willing to sacrifice to recreate the information here in this disk? Does defending your personal honor take a back seat to reclaiming your kingdom and restoring your countrymen? Vox might be in grave peril at this very moment, the longer you delay, the closer the crystal key moves towards being lost once more forever!" The net glider was forced to duck and scramble away from the approaching Knight, as the whistle of its sword split the air where he'd been standing. Duke ran to the body of the knight he had shot. It was not quite dead, so the icon was still complete. Duke removed the sword from the scabbard at its side, and turned to face the big Knight that silently stalked him. He held the heavy saber bravely in both hands, facing down the slowly marching demon Knight. Duke looked at the huge biceps beneath that dark gray armor, and cringed. Maybe he should think of a better weapon, he suddenly thought.

"Vox will be found, with or without your information," Doom answered. "Of that you can be certain. I have far greater resources at my disposal than this simple program," he sneered disdainfully.

The Knight struck, and Duke met the blow with his own sword upraised, and the pain of that brief blow made him feel like his arms were about to fall off. He parried the next swing, barely, but by the third slash, Duke was forced to fall back. He picked up a fallen lance, and attempted to hold the grim Knight at bay with its greater length while he argued for his life. But the Knight simply began hacking the lance to pieces with his broadsword as he continued to push relentlessly forward.

"All right, so you don't need the information about Vox, you're just going to go to 411 and track the little guy that way," Duke steadied the lance against the approaching Knight, all the while astonished that he was cracking wise during this whole thing. "I just happened to run across some information about your second in command that I swiped onto the disk as well. What about the woman, Doom, what about Fortune?"

"Fortune is dead," Doom answered dispassionately. "Bringing her into this conflict does not impress me in the slightest."

Duke was forced to drop the lance, and pick up the sword once more, as the grim Knight once again was on top of him. He danced out of the way of one blow, and struck home with another. The blade sunk deep into the knight's shoulder, but with a great back hand blow the Knight pummeled Duke across the chin, sending the net glider and his weapon skidding over the cold stone tiles.

Duke put a weary hand to his mouth, surprised at the blood that appeared there. He could taste the coppery saltiness of it, and that worried him. "Fortune is not dead, not yet at least," Duke continued to argue. "And the information on this disk is the proof!" The grim Knight leaped to where Duke lay on the ground, and his sword flashed above him in the dim sunlight. Duke rolled away, barely avoiding the blow that scored a deep gash in the stone beside him. "Did you hear me Doom?" he cried out desperately, realizing he had no where else to go. "Fortune is alive!"

Duke suddenly realized that Doom was above him. "Hold, Knight!" Doom ordered brusquely.

The grim Knight didn't hear, or to Duke's growing astonishment, didn't want to obey! The blade of that mighty sword came down once more, with Duke rolling again to narrowly avoid it, but feeling the sting where the razor sharp edge grazed his cheek. Then Doom had a metal glove on the Knight's thick arm.

"I ordered you to stop, program!" Doom commanded angrily. The grim Knight turned to look at this new player. Duke realized that the Knight was even bigger than Doom, but he had no doubt as to who was meaner. Still, a rogue program was nothing to mess with lightly, and Doom may not have ever had that experience. "Too bad it's my life in the middle!" Duke thought wryly.

The grim Knight turned suddenly on Doom, striking him with the hilt of the sword. Doom fell back, mildly astonished at this unexpected turn of events. The Knight turned back to his original quarry and readied the killing blow.

"Doom!" Duke cried out desperately.

His plea was answered, as a bolt of blue lightening struck the Knight full in the chest, forcing him backwards. "Back, demon program," Doom ordered, approaching once again with a renewed fire in his eyes. "Heed my wishes or be terminated!" The Knight turned again on Doom, and charged with sword upraised. Doom raised his gauntlets and fired again on the knight with the full power of his own armor, but the rogue program had somehow adapted, and marched forward under that relentless onslaught of energy. Doom began adjusting his weaponry, but fiercely held his ground. Slowly the Knight approached, and when he was within striking distance, he brought the blade down upon his Master's head. Doom halted the killing blow by grabbing the errant knight's arms in his own strong hands. Doom's red eyes glowed, and the grim Knight pushed forward against his creator. The two mighty icons were stuck in that position like an armored statue, and Duke was so entranced by the sight, that he forgot to even take the chance to run away. For a moment it appeared that the battle could go either way. Then Doom's head turned, ever so slightly, in what could only be described as a knowing smile as he latched onto the Knight's effective light frequency. With a flash of energy and the silent scream of ripping metal, the grim Knight disintegrated, and Doom alone was triumphant.

Duke was still lying on the ground, propped up on his elbows, amazed once again at the turn of events and his own flawless good luck. Doom approached him, not with weapons primed, but with his hand extended. "Give me the disk, Stratosphere," Doom said wearily, "and you shall have your deal."

Duke accepted the hand in his own. "Agreed."

Moments later, Duke was off line, his eyes adjusting to the dark, quiet interior of the giant blimp, the Cicada, where he had left his real body. His real body, which ached like it had been battered. He unhooked himself from the computer and sighed softly, giving himself time to adjust to the weight of the real world. He was happy to be alive. But he couldn't believe that after all of that, he had left empty handed. It was definitely too hot to go back to the Castle Doom program, but he still had Pixel's considerable resources available to him, as long as he could get past Paloma. No, he thought, maybe some other time. For now, he was tired, hungry, and in dire need of a bath.

Duke stood up and stretched, and felt a cold hand upon his shoulder. "Hey!" he said suddenly, "what's the meaning of this! I got a pass . . . look!" Duke reached for his pockets, fully expecting that some security guard had snuck up behind him in the dark. But when he heard that steely voice behind him, he realized with a sinking heart that this was no security guard.

"I know what you keep in your pockets, net glider," Doom intoned slowly, "and you would be well advised to keep your hands where I can see them! Unless you want to test my armor in the real world as well?"

"Doom?" Duke was stalling; he knew perfectly well who it was.

"Very perceptive," Doom hissed, "what you failed to recall is that I own Pixel in partnership with Paloma, and as such the Cicada is MY property."

"Well, I was going to read that in the trade journals you know, but I've been so busy lately . . ." Duke stuttered as Doom pushed him along the dark corridors into a lighted hallway in the belly of the giant blimp. "Hey! Where're you taking me?" he added. "I'm an American citizen, you know! I got rights!"

"You're trespassing," Doom stated with a slightly discernable sadistic glee in his voice. "Again, I might add."

"Wait a minute," Duke protested, "we had a deal!" That sense of glee he detected was more than a little alarming.

"That was for the previous transgression," Doom answered coldly.

"Yeah, ok, so, I'll pay a fine," Duke struggled a little bit as Doom pushed him toward one of the outer doors of the Cicada.

"Oh, you'll pay," Doom announced. He hit a switch and opened the door. Duke could see the bright light of the Spanish sun streaming in, the blue sky beyond, and little else. A gentle breeze brought in the smell of the ocean. Then Doom was pushing him into the doorway.

"Hey!" Duke cried angrily, "aren't you going to put down the stairs? It's like a thirty foot drop from here!"

"At least," Doom announced with cold-blooded certainty, as he pushed Duke out of the door.

It was then that Duke realized that his luck had just run out. For the Cicada was no longer moored at the quiet coastal town of San Sebastian. Instead, it was somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea, three thousand meters up. And here he was without a parachute, and about three minutes to being permanently off lined.

INTERLUDE

In a cold quiet bunker in the heart of TKU territory in eastern South Africa, Billy Sinclair turned over the long white bone in his hands as Lupe Norbitt fussed with her computers and endlessly shuffled papers from one stack to the next in a random, obsessive fashion. She was a large mulatto woman, with a brilliant smile and flashing eyes within her dark face. She was also a serious neat freak, and every part of her lab, as her life, was effectively compartmentalized, categorized, and accounted. A neat row of implements in her lab coat (always black pen, pencil, red pen, blue pen, razor, Billy noted with amazement) was the only sign of color in that starched white uniform. Her black curly hair was cut short and neatly plastered against her head so nary a curl was out of place. She was also the chief investigator of the TKU genetics lab, and if there was some obscure fact she didn't know, then she knew precisely where to find it. Despite her large size, she was a bundle of energy that was rarely absent from her precious lab and the animals she loved.

Billy rubbed his finger over the deeply etched black lines on the hard white bone, the bar code that had brought him here. All other remains from the den of the man-eating lion had been identified and accounted for, only this one bone, different from all the rest, puzzled him. "Are you sure that's what it says?" he asked again, staring at the piece of paper Lupe had shoved in front of him moments before.

"Yes, yes and yes," Lupe muttered, with growing irritation. She rolled her eyes. "Don't ask me again what it means because I don't know! That is what it says!"

Sinclair's friend and companion, Musleh Al-Hasid entered the lab, his face long and worried. He carried two sets of weapons, and Billy instantly knew what that meant. "Again they are attacking us," Musleh announced, with palpable sadness. "The general orders that we must be armed and ready at all times."

"Blast!" Billy answered, "When will they learn?" He thought back to the many skirmishes he had participated in to protect their southern border against marauders from Mozambique. He thought of the beauty of this country and the varied wildlife, some of it here in Lupe's lab, and how tragic it was that the rest of Africa had lost it under the crush of humanity and profit hungry corporations. He was willing to fight to defend it, but always sad at the loss of life such a battle entailed.

"Maybe . . . Maybe we can get an ally to turn back that power mad Prime Minister," Billy spoke his thoughts out loud, staring once again at the bone he held in his hands.

"Who are you meaning by an ally, Billy?" Musleh asked.

Billy handed him the piece of paper that held the deciphered bar code. "That's who I mean, Musleh," he said, pointing with the bone for emphasis. "And I got the ticket right here to get me through the front door!" Billy marched out the door to the lab with a new found confidence as he worked his plans out in his mind.

Musleh looked with startled confusion onto the paper his friend had handed him. In bold type, the words printed there were "DOOM 2080- Pacific NA" .

**The End . .** .

_** "For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground**_

_** And tell sad stories of the death of kings."**_

_** From Richard II, **_

_** by William Shakespeare**_

DS

September 7, 1997

**NEXT:** Prepare for the return of Vox from the pages of Doom 2099 as Doom takes a little jaunt into the mountainous wilderness of Karakorum! Who is holding Vox prisoner and why? And is this truly the end of Duke Stratosphere? A new ally (?) for Doom is introduced, and find out more about the civil unrest in Africa. Plus, what is the secret behind Billy's bar-coded bone? Be here! (Or thereabouts . . .)


End file.
